Joan of Arc: A Play in Five Acts

								

Leave thy inheritance! forfeit thy birthright!
Desert the post consigned to thee! the shepherd
Throw thus aside his crook, mean safety seeking,
And leave the hapless flock the fell wolf's prey!
O! France! poor land! then art thou lost indeed,
Though not by Heaven cast off. Thy prince deserts thee--
In evil hour betrays himself and thee.
These are my country's tears; and mark me, prince,
Such tears as these shall, in a sea of woe,
In judgment's awful hour, submerge thy soul.


ALEN. The prince is moved.


CHA.                         We'll think upon this matter.
Meanwhile thou mayst retire.

                                                   [They withdraw.


JOAN.                          Yet dost thou doubt me?


CHA. And now, sweet maid, we must evince
Our sense of kindness such--(takes her hand.)


JOAN.                        Thou dost mistake me.


CHA. (aside, Oh! majesty of virtue! I stand abashed
Before the simple form thou hast assumed,
Still lower than the lowly who reproves me.)
Forgive the offence.


JOAN.                 It is forgotten;
Thou hast not injured me.


CHA.                        Thou sayst aright.
The assailer not assailed sustains the injury,
When vice would sully purity. Speak thy wishes.


JOAN. I dare not trust the air with such a secret
As that which trembles here. (Approaches and whispers.)


CHA.                       Who told thee this?
Can Death then ope his mouldy jaws, and speak
Without a tongue?


JOAN.              Wouldst thou hear more?


CHA.                                          Forbear!


JOAN. The sword, which in the keeping of that church
Has since remained, must to my hand be given,
And thou must claim it.


CHA.                   Approach! (To the court.)


OMNES.                              Is there hope?


CHA. Reason and hope are yet at variance;
But instantly to Fierbois we will send,
And prove the truth of words declared to us.
Valancour, the embassy is thine. Haste thee,
Thy failure or success decides our movements.
Louvel protect the maid.--On his return
We will again assemble.

SCENE III.--Church of St. Catherine de Fierbois.--Midnight.
ABBOT and FATHER AUSTIN.


AUS. Nay, rest awhile, my lord.


ABB.                                It may not be,
A secret presses here, which ere my soul
Can quit in peace its tenement of clay,
Must be discharged; and on no other spot
May I divulge that secret.


AUS.                      Aid me then.
Here divers tombs of knights attract my eyes,
But none with such device as thou hast said.


ABB. Look where the eastern window proudly throws
A stream of crimson light, when ev'ning's gloom
Enshrouds all else--in token of respect
To him who sleeps below. Did not the chill
Of age, perhaps of death, benumb my limbs,
My watchful feet, accustomed to the path,